Love Letters
by theologygirl
Summary: A piece of history falls into Pierre's lap, but will he understand just how significant it is?Clarisse & Joseph, of course!
1. Chapter 1

_A/N Post PD1 – Back in Genovia._

_For those who don't know, Pierre is the son of Queen Clarisse, her firstborn who renounced his claim to the throne to join the church. Right now in my sandbox, Pierre is a parish minister, single sigh> , and working very hard in his church in Mertz. Oh, and my sandbox is a happy place where nobody minds us playing with our happy couple..._

Pastor Pierre, he preferred that title to 'His Royal Highness', drove his old BMW up the lane to Mrs. Westin's home about 15 minutes away from the shore. She was a widow, had been for nearly 20 years and had been a faithful member of the parish her entire life. She didn't get out to church much anymore, but she looked forward to a visit from her favourite minister, Pastor Pierre, every Wednesday afternoon. Today would be no exception.

She met him at the gate, her big smile welcoming him before he could climb out of the car. She hugged him with a fierceness that belied her 80 some years. She was a dear and how he enjoyed getting away from the sometimes mundane business of the parish to come and visit Mrs. Westin and share some of her famous peanut butter cookies.

Several glasses of iced tea and half a dozen cookies later the revelation happened.

"Pierre", she always dropped the 'pastor' when they were alone. "I've been giving some thought to clearing out some of my things while I still have my wits about me. Not the everyday things of course, but some of the old pieces in the loft."

He smiled. They had this conversation every summer. "Oh, and dear Mrs. Westin why would you be wanting to do that now?"

"Well, I'm not getting any younger you know." She winked at him. "Not that anyone could tell."

There was tiredness in her eyes and this time Pierre knew there was a sense of urgency in her that had not been there before. "Well, what would you like me to do?"

She stood, placing her glass on the end table and reaching for his not-yet-empty one. He handed it over somewhat reluctantly. "Come up to the loft over the garage with me. There's one piece in particular you might find interesting."

He followed her, rueing the fact that he'd put on his best suit today and now was about to climb into a dusty, dirty loft. Oh well, the church ladies were always after him to spruce up his wardrobe, perhaps it was time to get a new suit…

They climbed up the stairs into the loft, and Pierre was surprised to see so many large pieces of furniture, all covered up with white sheets to protect them.

"Mr. Westin had a great fascination for the historical value of old pieces of furniture. He collected them throughout his life. When he passed I never had the heart to get rid of them." She seemed to be looking for a piece in particular, although going down memory lane in the meantime. "Ah! Here it is back in this corner."

Pierre helped her move some of the pieces to bring her selection into the open area near the stairs. They removed the sheet and Mrs Westin ran her hand lovingly over the old wood. It was a mahogany desk, likely French, and inlaid with leather and brass. It was an antique but not really all that old. Pierre guessed it was circa 1940's or maybe a bit earlier. It was in beautiful condition, and he mused that the previous owner had taken good care of it.

"It's beautiful, Mrs. Westin. How long have you had it?"

"I bought it at auction for my husband just before he died. He sent me over to look at it, and even though I knew he'd never be well enough to use it or restore it he'd want to have it in his collection. Oh, my, I've had it just over 20 years now I guess. It's been up here in this attic since the day the men delivered it."

She seemed lost in memories again, and Pierre let her go as he closely examined the piece. He'd had a thing for restoring furniture himself, as Mrs. Westin knew, and even though still very much an amateur, had a sense that this piece had a story in it somewhere. He wondered, as he felt the leather top, who had used it, and what had they written on it? What business or family treasures had crossed this desk before it came to rest in Mrs. Westin's loft? "If only you could speak," he said under his breath.

"…the palace. She had started to speak again, but in Pierre's musings he only caught the last few words.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said, I don't think it was ever used at the palace, only at the summer residence in Mertz."

Pierre paid close attention now. "Mrs. Westin, are you saying that this piece came from the Royal Household?"

"Yes, my boy. There was an auction one year, very rare event indeed and it brought out the whole town and all the collectors, too. It cost me a pretty penny, but I got it." She was evidently proud of her bidding ability, and the fact she was able to get such a valuable piece of history for her husband.

Pierre looked much closer at the desk, the familiarity with it coming slowly but surely. "May I?" he asked with his hand on the drawer handle.

"By all means, look it over."

Pierre gently opened and closed the drawers, just a few cobwebs and dust in each. The top right hand drawer stuck a bit, but otherwise it didn't need much restoration to bring it back to its original glory. Finally he stood and brushed the dust from his pants. "Mrs. Westin, it's beautiful. I can't imagine why you'd want to part with it."

"Because I want it to go to someone who will appreciate it and look after it. My husband would want that. That's why I'm giving it to you."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 

Mrs. Westin wasted no time having one of the local men deliver her precious desk to Pastor Pierre at the rectory. "Mind you, not one scratch," she admonished him as he hoisted it into the back of his pickup truck.

Now it sat in Pierre's sitting room, in a place of honour by the bay window. It was a beautiful piece, but as he did some research on antiques of that sort he found that it held little monetary value. Poor Mrs. Westin probably paid way too much for it, he thought a little sadly. But the fact that it had once been in his family's home, or so they claimed, was enough to give it at least sentimental value, he assured himself.

He inspected it for the umpteenth time, wondering if the leather needed special treatment, and what to do about that drawer. Perhaps he could fix that without much effort. He pulled the drawer carefully all the way out and set it on the carpet. With his hands he felt the drawer rails, but found no reason for the drawer to be sticking. He went to the hallway and brought back a flashlight to shine into the hole. There was something back there, and it looked like ribbon. He gave a tug but it didn't budge. He extended his arm as far as he could and felt around until his hand found something bulky. A few gentle tugs and it dislodged and he was able to pull it out.

For a few moments he stared at the bundle in his hands, excited and disbelieving at what had been hidden in the back of the old desk. Letters. He quickly counted them. Twelve. A dozen yellowing envelopes tied together with faded blue ribbon. He stood rooted to the spot. History lay in his hands, and he was too excited to move.

\\\

Pierre finally forced himself to calm down. He set the bundle of letters carefully on the coffee table and poured himself a glass of wine. He turned off the phone and closed the blinds – he didn't want to be disturbed. Taking a sip of wine and setting the glass down on the table he reached for the bundle. Gently untying the ribbon he gathered the letters in his lap. How long had they been in the back of the desk, hidden from the world?

He chose the one on the top and opened the envelope. The glue had ceased to hold the envelope closed so he easily removed the letter. The paper was brittle, but in no imminent danger of crumbling in his hands so he carefully and slowly unfolded the paper.

The handwritten letter was dated July 9, 1971. Pierre took another sip of wine. He was anxious to read the letters, but wanted to savour every last word, too. And then, finally, he began to read.

_**My darling,**_

_**You looked beautiful today, so pretty in your yellow sundress I could hardly take my eyes off you. You bring me such joy everyday I can barely stand being so close, yet so far away from you. The way you charmed all those people, everyone wanted to be near you, everyone wanted a piece of you. How you give of yourself so much and still have enough left to laugh and to love and to be so joyful. You never cease to amaze and disarm me.**_

_**I wish we could be together always like we were tonight – just the two of us in each other's arms. Dancing with you under the stars, kissing every perfect freckle on your neck and shoulders. Maybe someday we'll be free to show our love, but for now I remain forever yours,**_

The signature at the bottom was a mere squiggle, it might be a 't' or an 'i' or even a 'j', but he couldn't be sure. Whoever the mystery man was, he certainly had it bad for this woman.

Pierre reached for the second letter, but as is the life of a minister, a knock came at the door. He was needed to attend to someone. The letters lay forgotten on the coffee table as he reached for his coat and car keys.


	3. Chapter 3

It wasn't until after midnight that Pierre finally fell exhausted into his easy chair and once again picked up the bundle of letters. As he read each one he began to feel as though he knew the two lovers. The intensity of the love that was being poured out on paper was palpable. Pierre himself had never felt that way about anyone, but began to wish he might one day have a love like these two had.

By one-thirty, he had finished all the letters, save one, and two glasses of wine. Common sense told him that he should go to bed, but curiosity was too great. That was a trait he got from his mother. Impatience, and curiosity. He smiled. He really should call her this week, it had been longer than usual since they had spoken, and much too long since he'd gone for a visit.

The last letter was dated August 26, 1971. If this was only a summer romance it surely was a hot one, he smiled to himself.

**_My darling,_**

**_Our time here is coming to a close, and I want to reach up to the sun and moon and stop them from spinning to slow down our time together. It has all gone much too fast. When I close my eyes at night all I see is you. I see your beautiful eyes, the cute way your mouth turns up when you smile, the way you fiddle with your dress when you know I'm watching you. You are my life. I want to spend the rest of it with you by my side. How I long to take you in my arms, to hold you, to care for you, to show you how passionate I am about you. I hope that you know how I feel, and I hope that you feel, if only in part, the way I do for you._**

**_I thank you, my love, for these weeks together. I will cherish them always. As I left you in the early hours, as you slept so peacefully, I whispered a promise to you. "I'll always be by your side, forever and always."_**

**_I love you, my darling,_**

**_Yours forever,_**

Pierre nearly shook with excitement. The signature was much clearer on this letter, and very, very familiar. He still couldn't be sure if it was a 't' or an 'i' or a 'j', but the little lighting bolt on the end was unmistakeable. He ran up to the storeroom at the top of the stairs and pulled out a box. He hadn't dug in there for years, but he knew right where to look. In a pile of old letters, college transcripts and pictures was the letter he was looking for. He had treasured it for years because it had been the only one he'd received from a very special man in his life. It was a letter conveying pride at the young man he'd become, able to stand up for himself despite a domineering father and the wishes of his country. The signature was what mattered now though. A firm "J" with a lighting bolt at the end. Joseph.

Joseph had written the letters.

_A/N Aww, now who would have thought it would be Joseph? he he. I'm posting this story all at once. Hope you like it. More to come..._


	4. Chapter 4

Awake after sleeping only a few hours, Pierre made the phone call. Not to his mother, but to Joseph, the man who had been more a father to him than poor Rupert could have ever managed. It was Joseph who had stood by him as he timidly explained to his father his reasons for renouncing his claim to the Renaldi throne in favour of a call to ministry. It had been Joseph who had given him life skills, or street smarts where his father could never fill in those gaps. Joseph had always been there, always been a part of the family, so to speak. Now, he wondered how much he really knew the man.

Over the phone, Pierre would only say that he had an urgent matter to discuss. Yes, he would see his mother, but she was not the reason for his visit. He'd be there just after lunch and would prefer to meet directly with him, if that was all right with the Head of Security.

The old BMW sped through the gates of the Palace in Pyrus at just after 3 pm, coming to a quick halt in front of the main entrance where Joseph was waiting, shaking his head disapprovingly at the younger man's driving skills.

"Joseph!"

"Your Highness." Joseph bowed his head, but raised it with a grin on his face as Pierre pulled him into a bear hug. "Your mother awaits."

"She'll await a while longer. I have something important to discuss with you. Can we go somewhere private?"

"My office. This way."

-0-0-0-0-0-0

Joseph had just sat down at his desk, Pierre across from him when the letters landed with a gentle thud on his desk. "I want to talk about these."

Joseph stared at the bundle as if it were glowing. Finding his voice he rasped, "Where did you get those?"

Pierre settled back in his chair, finally convinced that these were indeed love letters written by Joseph. "I found them."

"Found where?"

"Relax, it's not like I got them off E-bay or something. They were in the back of a desk, one that used to be in the Summer Residence, but was sold at auction. One of my parishioners had it and gave it to me. Restoring furniture has become a hobby."

"An extremely fortunate one at that. Who has had access to them?"

"No one. They were stuck in the back, behind a drawer. I found them quite by accident. I'd say no one's opened them in many years."

"Since 1971 I would hope."

"I had no idea you were such a Casanova, Joseph."

"You read them all, eh?"

"Every last, intimate detail. I could even imagine the smell of her hair. You should have been a writer, it's good stuff." Pierre was clearly enjoying the older man's discomfort. "But you've got to tell me, who was she?"

Joseph looked up, startled. He had assumed Pierre had guessed the identity of the woman, but he had been wrong. The woman remained a mystery to him, and perhaps it might just be able to stay that way.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Unsuccessful at learning the woman's identity, Pierre gave in and accompanied Joseph to his mother's office. Clarisse, her trademark curiosity in full bloom, could not pry the reason for his visit and secret meeting with Joseph out of either of them. Undaunted, she pulled her son onto the terrace, and proceeded to grill him until supper about his activities, his job, his love life and any other detail she could think to ask. Joseph, feigning work, slipped away and back to his own office, and back to the letters.

It had been nearly 35 years since he'd seen these letters. He remembered every last one of them, as it seemed those days that summer were burned in his mind. He fingered the envelopes and the ribbon as if they might break by merely sitting there. He felt the emotions course through him, the love, the tenderness, the tears, the heartbreak, and the joy and sadness of those few weeks all crashing around him. God, how he loved her then, but in his heart he knew he loved her even more today.

He chose a letter from the middle of the pile and opened it.

**_August 1, 1971_**

**_My darling,_**

**_Happy Independence Day! You looked stunning in your peach dress and white hat. Even in a crowd I could find you in an instant. Do you always have to be the beauty in every gathering?_**

**_I watched you be so kind to everyone, so gentle with the little children. I must say you melted everyone's heart when you stopped to talk with the orphans. You are so good with the little ones, especially two very handsome little devils._**

**_I wanted to hold your hand during the fireworks, oh, how I just wanted to be close enough to tell you that I love you with all my heart. I see it in your eyes, that you feel something for me too, and it makes me catch my breath. If only…_**

**_Each day we spend together is one more day that I know what Heaven must be like. Your smile mesmerizes me, your cool touch brings fire to every part of me. Sometimes I just have to remind myself to breathe when you're around. My darling, I treasure these days and want them to go on forever, as my love for you will go on forever._**

**_All my love,_**

Joseph folded the letter and put it back in the envelope and in its place in the pile. He retied the ribbon and put the bundle in the locker with his sidearm. Yesterday. It seemed like yesterday. Where had all the years gone?

_A/N Sorry it's so short, but wait: there's more!_


	5. Chapter 5

Pierre had returned to his parish just after 9 pm, still unable to get Joseph to reveal the object of his affections. Clarisse had been sad to see him go so soon, and retreated to the garden to be alone. It was there Joseph found her.

"Does Her Majesty wish to put on a sweater in the cool, night air?"

She turned, smiling when she saw the white wool sweater in Joseph's hands. He carefully put it around her shoulders; letting his hands linger just slightly longer than necessary. She didn't pull away, in fact just the opposite, she leaned back against him. He encircled her with his arms and placed a kiss on her neck.

She sighed. "You're all the warmth I ever need, my love."

"I'm glad to hear that. I was beginning to think you were getting tired of me."

"Never. If I don't have you, I have nothing."

"Not true, but I'll accept the sentiment." He paused, turning her to face him. "Clarisse, darling, I know you're wondering why Pierre was here today out of the blue."

"It seems my son had some important business to do with you, that neither of you have seen fit to let me in on", she chided.

"Only because Pierre was blissfully unaware of the treasure that he returned to me today."

"Treasure? What are you talking about?"

Joseph reached inside his coat and produced the small stack of letters tied with blue ribbon. "Do these look familiar, my dear?"

Clarisse's eyes widened in recognition. "Oh! Your letters! Where did they come from? Did Pierre… Does he know?"

Joseph shushed her, placing a finger on her lips. "One question at a time and I might be able to answer. First, no, he doesn't know. All he knows is that I wrote the letters to some mystery woman. Secondly, he found them in an old desk one of his church people had, and brought them right here to me, after reading every one of them, the cheeky son of a gun."

Clarisse laughed. "I'm sure they made for excellent reading, if memory serves. I thought they were gone forever, or worse."

Joseph shared her feelings. "Yes, or worse, they could have been sold on E-Bay."

"On what?"

Joseph shook his head. "Never mind. They're back safe and sound and no one is the wiser."

Clarisse held the bundle close to her chest. "That was the best summer of my life. I've never felt so alive," she looked at him, "so loved."

Joseph felt a lump in his throat. He took the letters back from her and put them in his pocket. He pulled her tightly to him and held her. "This is what I wanted all those years ago and could never have, except from a distance and in my dreams."

"I waited like a school girl for your letters to arrive, never knowing where I'd find one, or when the next one would come. I lived for that connection we had, that dream of the perfect life you wrote of but we could never have. I pictured everything you wrote as if it actually happened, and cried myself to sleep when I knew it was not to be."

Joseph tilted her chin and looked in her eyes. "I never knew."

"Now you do. But it's all right. It's okay now, because we have the love you wrote of, you can hold me in the moonlight, whisper love in my ear, and kiss me good morning when we wake up together. We have it now, Joseph."

"Promise me something, Clarisse?"

"Anything."

"Promise me that you'll take better care of the letters I write to you from now on?"

They laughed together, the worry that the lost letters would somehow surface out of their control gone forever. The promise of a loving future together very much alive, their love finally able to be shown openly, their only worry how to tell Pierre.

**The End.**

_A/N If you liked it, I'd sure like to hear from you. If you didn't like, tell me why and I'll try to do better.  
Thanks,  
Barb_


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